Delicious
by Stupid Asian
Summary: Three years can change a man. Especially a man like Jack Spicer. (Rated M for semi-graphic descriptions of gore and mild adult themes). Warnings: gore, blood, murders, adult themes, unoriginality. (This is a two or three-part story.)
1. Chapter 1

**I am back!**

**Sorry I have not updated "The First Dragon" in two months (when I promised I'll only be offline for a few days). The wifi took longer than usual to install, and so I've only had access to wifi since the 31st of March. I know that doesn't give me an excuse because I've mentioned before that I write my stories on Evernote and then transfer them onto my laptop, and I assure you that I have notes on them on my phone right now, it's just that I'm in a bit of a rut.**

**I read through "The First Dragon" a couple minutes ago and I did not like what I wrote. I'm currently stuck between deleting the whole thing and starting over, or editing bits and pieces before continuing where I left off, but I believe that what I wrote was not even up to my level of satisfaction or even what I consider mediocre, so I feel very depressed for even letting you guys see it or read it.**

**I feel it would be best if maybe I discontinued "The First Dragon" for the time being, while I sort my thoughts and get interested in the plot I intentioned again, so I can continue writing it.**

**For now, to satisfy my readers and to help clear up my head and give me something new to work on, I have written a two-part (maybe three) fanfiction on Jack Spicer's interesting current hobbies and eating habits, and Chase's meeting the new and (somewhat) improved Jack Spicer. I'm thinking of going the clichéd route and maybe re-introducing Jack Spicer to a showdown against the monks? I don't know, depends on what I feel like doing to the story.  
**

**But anyways, enjoy!**

**\- (A Very) Stupid Asian**

**Edit (29/05/14) - Edited parts of this chapter. Chapter 2 will be up soon.**

* * *

Jack Spicer has been missing for a while now. Most believe that he has abandoned the conflict. Some say he abandoned society. Others: his life.

All three are far from the truth. All are likely possibilities, but none of them were the truth. But then again, people start to believe these fabricated concepts, especially regarding an otherwise energetic albino goth that disappeared years ago for no apparent reason.

The most likely theory for the cause of his (random) disappearance was realisation. He realised that the conflict was not for him, as he was quite literally the only candidate that did not have the capability of performing tricks. No, not simple, magician's tricks contained in a cardboard box sold in dollar stores. He meant real tricks: teleportation, telekinesis, elemental control or even auditory or visual illusions. He couldn't do any of it.

Another theory was depression. The physical, mental and emotional stress that he had to cope with for those entire three years in the conflict had finally taken its toll on him, and it quite literally drowned him à la tsunami. Having to see his masterpieces, that he had spent so much time making, customising and perfecting, be destroyed on a daily basis with just a bit of fancy footwork by four kids. Those same four kids that would ridicule his appearance, his weaknesses and his (admittedly few) strengths. Those same four kids that were just as strange as he, yet Jack was always treated like he was the alien, due to his exotic colouring. This, adding on to the fact that he was merely a child when he joined the magical rumble, could've developed an inferiority complex which further could've led to clinical depression.

Of course there were more notions, more stories, but they were all just slightly different from these two. Regardless of which one was the more likely possibility, they were both still shocking. Due to his boisterous nature, his animated confidence and his Godzilla-sized ego, many simply ignored the albino and did not notice his disappearance until several weeks after, when air replaced where he once stood.

Then came the suspicions.

**_Where is he? _**

**_What happened to him? _**

**_What is he planning? _**

**_It's got to be big if we haven't seen him for this long._**

Weeks came and then came the calm. The calm before the storm?

**_He could've backed out. _**

**_He probably realised this isn't for him. _**

**_Getting his pasty ass whooped on a daily basis probably taught him a thing or two, however slow he came to learn it._**

Months; and then came the paranoia, hysteria, the conflict-wide anxiety.

**_What if he came back today? _**

**_What if he spent that time to become dangerous? _**

**_Would Jack Spicer actually be a threat?_**

More months; and then it quieted down. A year; and people have forgotten what it was like to have him around. Two years passed and no one has seen or heard of Jack Spicer. Three; and they've forgotten.

They've forgotten of the child, the Jack Spicer that they all met when he was simply eleven.

The child who bruised like a peach, who screamed like a monkey at the slightest idea of getting hurt and had a mind several centuries before its time.

The child with shockingly red hair, pale white skin and glowing red eyes.

The child who was given everything he wanted growing up; except for love and companionship.

The Jack Spicer they all met when he was simply eleven, was gone.

* * *

The ethereal glow of the never ending ceiling, smooth marble walls and the cold hard floor. Reflective ponds, marble statues and tall pillars. The calm, the vastness and the throne. The beauty and unexpectedness of Chase Young's citadel was maddening. No speck of dust or dirt; no bumps, scrapes or scratches; everything in Chase Young's citadel was maintained to perfection. Similar to the overlord himself.

Speaking of the overlord.

Chase Young meditates, several feet off the ground. Completely and utterly still in form, the immortal meditates, with only the sound of inhaling and exhaling filling the large room.

A slight shift in the atmosphere, a miniscule drop in temperature and the sound of distant horrified screams.

Chase's eyes snap open and he quickly drops on to solid ground. Briskly walking to his throne, he checks the All-Seeing Eye and focuses on where he believed the screams came from.

The estimated coordinates show up on the Eye, slowly fading to reveal the Xiaolin temple.

Scanning over the familiar area, his eyes draw to the courtyard where Master Fung is seen to be in deep meditation. The four Xiaolin dragons staring at the master in shock, the most terrible of horrors within their eyes.

"Ah."

Eyes zooming in on the old master, Chase changed the angle to view the master's front and immediately knew what the problem was.

Master Fung looked otherwise normal, from his back. The front was an entirely different scene. His eyes were sewn shut, hand stitched and professionally threaded through. The mouth was sewn as well, this time the stitching was loose and the lips were agape, revealing several bloody teeth but no tongue.

His unnaturally straight back was supported by small holes that were threaded up like that of a corset, yet they were small and almost invisible to the naked eye and no blood stained the master's robe. From the front however, the white robes did nothing to hide the sliced open torso. Further scrutiny revealed that the heart, lungs and kidney were taken away. Chase noted that several areas of the body had the muscle and the fat removed as well. The calf, arms and the abdominal area.

Mildly annoyed at the background noise of the monks screaming, Chase ponders on who this mysterious killer might be.

Killing the master of a Xiaolin temple and not the Grand Master or the Imperial Xiaolin Council, suggests that the killer did not like this temple particularly. He also wanted to leave the body out in the open to traumatize the monks, but he wanted them to think that the master was perfectly fine, (hence there were no cuts or speckles of blood on the master's robes,) so further investigation of Fung's silence meant the monks had to get more of an eyeful of the gruesome scene.

Judging by the cuts and neat stitches on the body show that the killer had methodical hands, accustomed to making small incisions as well as deep gashes, with a likely background of performing surgery. Yet the lack of pools of blood that should've surely leaked out of the open torso were missing, so the killer drained the body of most of its blood before decorating the master.

Which meant the killer has done this before.

Chase had heard of killings similar to this. They started a few years ago, with each body formed and 'decorated' (quite beautifully) to their profession:

A catholic priest was kneeling and praying with his eyes and hands sewn together, ironically enough he was kneeling inside of a pentagram made out of his blood.

A judge was chained by the hands from both sides of a court room with his head on a plate of a balancing scale and his eyes, brain and all of his teeth on the other plate. The scale itself was pure gold and was nailed onto the palm of the judge's right hand.

A florist bleeding to death by the thorns of the rose stems encasing his body. Some roses threaded carefully from the cut of his abdominals up through his esophagus to his mouth, which happened to have been ripped open from the sides of his lips to make room for several beautiful white roses. A shame some petals were crushed by his teeth, and that most of the roses were stained in blood.

The most famous killing was one of an up and coming artist, said to reveal his latest masterpiece in the Louvre. On the grand opening of that day at the Louvre, crowds ran out screaming at the sight of the 'masterpiece'. His naked body was sliced into four pieces length wise and encased in separate clear acrylic casing for everyone to see. Each piece running from the top of the artist's head to the bottom of his feet, everyone got to see through everything, even his innards. The clear acrylic was bolted tightly with tungsten onto the floor so there was no possible way to remove the body without having to remove that patch of the flooring. To this day, that patch of flooring reminded everyone of the gruesome butchery.

Each and every murder that happened after that made the world fear the anonymous artist, and no one knew what he would do next. What assured everyone that the same person did all of the murders, were the signature patches of stitches on the same exact places on each victim's bodies. Each body had patches of skin resewn on to it, but removing the thread showed that the muscle and fat underneath those areas were removed cleanly. The same exact places Master Fung's body were missing: the calf, the arms and the abdominal area.

Chase visited all the places the murders took place, hoping to find any trace of the artistic murderer, and noticed an odd lingering scent of perfume. That strange, intoxicating perfume. It seemed expensive, a rather pricy men's perfume. Not out of place in an exclusive department store, but entirely so in a scene of a crime. It was faint enough to bypass the bloodhounds, but it was heavy enough for Chase to notice. Yet under all the smells of fear, terror, sweat and blood, under all the chemicals used in cleaning the body away; that faint perfume always prevails against the heady artificial fresheners and the pungent bodily fluids of the panicking public.

Chase imagined that perfume would be clinging onto Fung's body right now. He never managed to be at the scene of the crime while the murder was still fresh, but he imagined that the same perfume would be adhering to Fung's clothes right now. He'll have to investigate when the body is alone and the children have stopped running around in circles.

* * *

**So that was Chapter 1 of Delicious. Hopefully that wasn't too crappy.**

**If you watched the new season of Hannibal then you may have recognised some of the murder scenes. People think that since I'm basing most of this story off of a show called Hannibal then this story's main character should've been Hannibal Roy Bean. I entertained that thought for a while but then I asked it to leave, because Hannibal Roy Bean was already an insanely evil legume, I didn't want to make him an almost-God. I also really liked the idea of a changed!Jack Spicer, a more grown up, sophisticated evil that is charismatic and handsome and entirely unrecognisable from the bumbling idiot we all knew and loved. A more cool, calm and collected guy that is even more dangerous and equally as deadly. Bryan Fuller's Hannibal Lecter just seemed like an almost perfect character for what I imagined the more grown up Jack Spicer to be like, so I based it off of him. (If you get queasy easily, then do not watch the show. It gets really graphic really fast).**

**Anyways, I was thinking if any of you wanted to collaborate on "The First Dragon" and help me finish this ridiculous thing, or even if you could proofread for me on any grammatical errors and awkward repetitions, or even give me feedback that would be great. Any and all help is appreciated!**

**-Stupid Asian**


	2. Chapter 2

**I am back!**

**I have been pretty busy during my five week holiday and now I only have a little over a week to publish new chapters until I once again, become too busy to write.**

**Thank you for your patience.**

**-Stupid Asian**

* * *

He had put up a front. A façade if you will. A façade that displays him as an egocentric, selfish, Heylin wannabe. Something that will portray him as a nuisance.

He needed it to be that way, so he could observe from afar. All their techniques, strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes. Every little bit of info he could get his hands on. Analysing and scrutinising every little hint, every subtle detail, and every little lapse in form. He learnt where their bodies drew the line, before they would collapse; and he knew where their bodies _thrived. _He knew every little combination of attacks. What would affect them the most. Everything. He knew their bodies as intimately as they did. Hell, he probably knew even more.

A small sigh escaped pale lips. Looking up at the high ceiling of his office, a much older Jack Spicer leans back in his plush desk chair. The chair was quite evidently high quality, lined with Italian leather, with Brazilian cherry wood framing and arm rests. The leather could've been hand stitched as well.

Ruffling through unruly red hair, Jack looks down at his desk, to the little handheld mirror next to his laptop. Picking it up gingerly, he eyes his little gift. A gnarly looking scar, deep and jagged, coming down from his right eye.

Delicately stroking at the scar, carefully as to not accidentally scratch at the sensitive skin. Flinching at the memory it brought on, he ignores **the screams** within the depths of his mind.

**A cacophony of cackles.**

**His mother and father butchered before his own eyes, a mangled heap of corpses almost unrecognisable to their once glittering selves.**

**And a fork, a lone fork with what looked like a rather large cube of meat forced into his mouth.**

Wincing at the faint headache, Jack stares up at the clock in his lab, reading that it was six in the morning. He had stayed up to finish some commissioned work by the KGB, had it packaged in a box and had just sent a Jackbot to send it to them. It would most likely arrive to them in a couple of minutes, if there wasn't any trouble when it passed over Mongolia.

Yawning as he stood up, Jack heads to the kitchen of his family's old manor in the Chinese countryside. Going through some new designs in his head, he faintly wonders what monk tasted like.

* * *

Needless to say, the murder had done its intended job to traumatise the monks. Although Master Fung had already taught them all they needed to know and no longer needed to assist the monks on their path to becoming Dragons, in favour of letting them grow on their own terms; the monks still miss the old master. Since they were in the temple for a significant part of their lives, the mentor has become a sort of second parent to each of them, and to see a parent so brutally butchered…

Standard procedure for when a master died, would be to embalm the body and then to place them in a casket in a special room, unlike other lower level monks who would just be cremated and have their urns placed in the same room. The traditional Xiaolin embalming process was long and extensive, with the foremost part of the process being praying extensively to release the spirit from the body. The body was placed in a stone pedestal in the front of a room, then certain monks would kneel in front of the body and pray for extended periods of time. The certain amount of time for this praying was unknown, but it could be from several hours to several days.

Master Fung's body was treated similarly and was now on the stone pedestal previously mentioned. The monks have come and go, praying for nearly six hours before leaving, possibly to their beds so they can continue the following day. Due to this, they left Master Fung's body on the pedestal.

To the convenience of Chase Young.

The immortal's aura had entered the room suddenly, darkening the atmosphere and thickening the air, only interrupted by that strange perfume emanating from the body. Circling the corpse, Chase had noticed a few things upon teleporting into the room: the body has already been cleaned and the monks had stitched back whatever they could, and that the same _intoxicating _perfume was clinging onto the body. The perfume had hit Chase' sensitive nose as soon as he entered and it quite thoroughly distracted the being for several moments, before he finally started to examine the carcass. How they did not notice that _utterly intoxicating s_cent, he did not know.

The chest has been wrapped in several layers of gauze and the eyes, lips and back have been removed of the thread. Parts of the arms, calves and the abdominals where the fat and muscle have been cleanly sliced off underneath were stuffed in a strange thick liquid that has solidified, and the skin on top has had the stitching reinforced.

Despite the cuts and the gauze wrapped around the chest, the corpse seemed almost normal, as if Master Fung had never been slaughtered and the monk was just sleeping.

Chase had stopped circling the body at this point, standing near the head of the pedestal and was just about to leave before he noticed something.

He did not notice these before, as they were small and seemed like a very light cut. Marring the skin merely a shade darker, and with no blood and barely any redness, it almost seemed invisible, similar to a paper cut. But it was there. And Chase saw it.

The outer wrist of Master Fung's right hand had a pair of initials imprinted just over the wrist bone:

'J.S.'

* * *

The bright-near blinding-sun in the sky did nothing to help the cold. Most wouldn't even consider it being _just _cold, it being subzero temperatures in the frozen tundra_. _Of course it didn't help either that the ground was slippery, or that the icicles hanging from the edges of various cliffs overhead were startlingly large and seemed like they could drop any minute. Adding that to the uneven terrain covered by seemingly smooth snow and ice and the nearly obscured view of the change from flat land to dangerous slopes, the monks were having a really hard time trekking through the frozen desert.

It also didn't help that their mentor and caretaker of five years was recently butchered.

The monks were restless for a week! They were angry, confused, anxious, frustrated, even depressed. They all swore to avenge their fallen master and proceeded to train their hardest, so that when they do find the one who killed their teacher, they will make that person pay.

So when Dojo had come rushing to the courtyard, distressed and violently scratching at several boils littering his snake-like torso, alerting them of a Shen Gong Wu that had just revealed itself in northern Greenland, they were notably irritated at the interruption of their training.

It turns out, that it was just what they needed. It took their minds off of the murderer and made them focus on something that now seemed fickle in comparison, hunting for a trinket instead of a killer. But it did help them calm down.

Slipping on the icy ground with a yelp, for what seemed like the fifth time in an hour, an annoyed growl followed.

"Dojo! What the hell does the Wu even look like! We've been walking around forever and we don't even know what we're looking for!" Raimundo exclaimed, rubbing delicately at the sensitive scratch on forehead.

"Yeah Dojo! My feet are aching with trying not to slip on the ground and I don't even think my lip balm is going to help with how chapped my lips are getting!" Kimiko added, spreading even more lip balm on to her lips. Clay nodded while rubbing his hands together fervently, letting out a sneeze.

"We're looking for a small diamond the shape of a tear drop, it's clear but it glows brightly so it shouldn't be that hard to find," The little green dragon responded,

"It's not called the Lover's Tear Drop for nothing." Dojo followed.

The Lover's Tear Drop was an inconsequential Shen Gong Wu that many people forgot existed, but its power was actually quite interesting. To look at someone through the tear drop, manipulated that person's image to what they actually were or the closest thing that would describe them. It also gave a white or black glow around the image to show whether the person was affiliated with the Xiaolin or the Heylin.

"Dojo, is that the Wu?" Omi questioned, pointing at a rather bright glowing near the top of a tall mountain. His companions' eyes followed up the mountain, all of them blanching at the idea of having to trek up a mountain that high.

"Well, well, that saved me quite some time looking for the Wu. I thank you, young Omi."

The confident voice that came from the side startled the monks, and when they saw Chase Young at said side, they all threw their worries away and ran up.

No way in hell were they going to let Chase Young get this!

Chase chuckled to himself at this, giving the children a head start before running up the mountain himself, easily catching up to and surpassing them.

As they all raced up the mountain, while Chase knocks each of the monks down along the way, all of them rushing up to reach him; another figure appears, hovering several meters above the impromptu competition. Softly landing in front of the Lover's Tear Drop with a faint padding sound, light footfalls stepping over uneven terrain before reaching down to pick up the Shen Gong Wu and when the figure got a firm hold of the tiny object he stood up and turned around to leave.

"Wait, the wu is-"

Omi's voice cuts off, the little boy noticing the other figure facing them. A tall figure in the blackest of leather. The person turns around to face the five, meeting all of them with a bored stare. Unruly red hair falling over redder eyes, cupped by the palest of skin… it brought about a faint sense of nostalgia, like they've done this previously but _for the love of all that is Xiaolin_, where had he seen that face before?!

He certainly _looked _familiar. With the exotic colouring. But the face just threw him off. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, faint eye bags, those definitely seemed different about the person's face, but the person's presence just seemed familiar. The person's clothes seem different too, a fitting leather jacket, matching leather pants and military boots.

"Ummm… who are you?" Kimiko questioned.

And yet, silence was the answer. The new character locking eyes with everyone before dropping his eyes back onto the diamond, blinking lazily.

"Sir, please excuse my rudeness but I do not believe you should be here." Omi stated, worry, frustration and questions staining his face.

"You might not know this but this object is very powerful and you migh-"

Omi didn't manage to finish his sentence, when the new character suddenly punted Omi's head with the front of his steel-toed boots, similar in the fashion of kicking a soccer ball.

It was only at this that the new character raised his hand to show the Shen Gong Wu, pinched between his thumb and his forefinger and brought it up to the bright arctic sunlight. At the bright reflection of the sun through the crystal, he mumbled to himself,

"Oh, I know exactly what this is."

At the same time the new character spoke, Chase stares at the image within the crystal as it manipulated itself into the closest thing that can describe the strange man.

A body of black skin and bones with the longest limbs that stretched for miles and no hair or facial features, the body rotting away.

* * *

**If you don't watch Supernatural, then you might not understand the last bit. I tried to describe a Wendigo. :P**

**There is quite a bit of lore on cannibalism and what it can do to the human body, I decided to do something similar but make Jack more human. Not a Wendigo and not exactly Hannibal the Human either. You will see what I mean in the next chapter.**

**My writing abilities are getting rusty, as you can see.**

**Regarding Bellette07's review question, 'what led Jack to start eating people?', I haven't exactly explained it well enough here, but I did show a little hint in the chapter. It will be more in depth in the next chapter.**

**I also described Jack as a grotesque artist in the previous chapter so that the 'J.S.' will kind of make sense in this chapter, as the initials almost act like an artist's tag. Or simply something to show that an object is yours. I write my name on my instant noodles all the time so my brother won't eat them.**

**Once again, thank you for your patience. I hope that my writing abilities will get better as I write more chapters. **

**-Stupid Asian**


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